I don't know who you are. Don't know what school you follow, which side you're on—could be heads, could be tails. Could be the edge. Could be you shoot before the coin lands. Just know I'll be the one picking it up. You ever hear the story of the fella who painted bullseyes around his bullet holes? Ol' Drifter's plan is coming together—maybe not as clean as I wanted, maybe without the right folk nearby, but it's happening. That's why I left this message for you, in a place you wouldn't look if you didn't give a damn. Things are changin'—hell, things have already changed—but Drifter's still a safe bet. And I've still got plenty of time. Just not as much as I did before.